Sticks and Stones
by 1701dragonflies
Summary: A little Daryl/Andrea something to get us through the hiatus. Daryl Dixon in Woodbury? Andrea can't believe it. Is this what it means, to be a part of the Woodbury community? Way AU, more wishful thinking than anything else, but fun all the same. The Walking Dead belongs to Robert Kirkman and AMC, I just wrote this for fun with no copyright infringement intended.
1. Chapter 1

Sticks and Stones

Summary: A little Daryl/Andrea something to get us through the hiatus. It's probably hitting a prompt post or two. Daryl Dixon in Woodbury? Andrea can't believe it. Is this what it means, to be a part of the Woodbury community? Way AU, more wishful thinking than anything else, but fun all the same.

Rating: T.

Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belongs to Robert Kirkman and AMC, I just wrote this for fun with no copyright infringement intended.

###

Andrea stands in the arena, feeling alone and claustrophobic all at the same time as she listens to the feral cheers of the people who by day are mild-mannered townsfolk. She can't focus on their screams, on their bloodlust. She can't focus on Merle's face, so different to the other faces that she's seen him wear. She can't even focus on The Governor's face (she can't bring herself to call him Philip. Not now). All she can see is the man, the other man in the arena.

Daryl.

Daryl Dixon.

Daryl Dixon in Woodbury? She can't believe it.

From the look on his face, he can't believe it either. Can't believe that she's here, in this place. How it must look to him, her living behind these walls, with these people who have dragged him into this place, who are making him fight his own brother. How they must look to him. How she must look to him. Is this what it means, to be part of the Woodbury community? She thinks about what she saw in The Governor's apartment, that room where she found Michonne.

Oh God, Michonne …

She's drawn out of her stupor by the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Merle, true to form, has been the one to throw the first punch.

It's a solid one; she can see and hear the impact as his fist makes contact with Daryl's face. The younger Dixon drops to his knees, probably more from the shock of being hit by Merle rather than the punch itself, although as Andrea thinks back to her and Daryl's interactions (she can't even remember how long ago that was, and it makes her ashamed) she somehow knows that Daryl's no stranger to Merle's fists. Even so, she can't bear to watch the way Daryl's mouth kisses dirt. Daryl might have been many things when she was with the group, but weak he never was, and to see him brought to his knees is a terrible thing.

"Are you alright?" The Governor's at her side although his gaze is on the scene in front of him.

"You can't do this." Andrea moves to push through the crowd, where Daryl's recovered and is returning Merle's favour. "Merle's his brother-"

"They're both terrorists!" The Governor says, and when he finally looks at Andrea, all she can see is that room with the fish tanks, the heads at her feet as he clutched his eye and howled for vengeance. "You saw what havoc he wrecked on our town, the town we've worked hard to build. Merle betrayed us, and this is his punishment. Their punishment."

Andrea takes a step away from The Governor, suddenly feeling the overwhelming urge to shower. "Who are you?" She manages to splutter, as though she's seeing clear for the first time. "What is this place?"

The Governor shakes his head and gives her a sympathetic smile. "You know what this place is, Andrea." He says. "Of course you know. This place is life, is the future. And what future isn't worth fighting for?"

"Fighting for?" Andrea says. "Fighting for? You call this fighting for our future? This is killing people for fun, for sport! We're supposed to be fighting what's out there, not between ourselves!"

"We've always had more to fear from the living than the biters, Andrea." The Governor looks sad, as though she's disappointed him. "How has it taken you so long to figure this out? And I thought you liked what happened in our little arena?" He takes a step closer, his body in her personal space as his fingers tease over her hips.

"He's my friend." Andrea takes a step away, desperate to put some space between them. "He's my friend. He saved my life."

"So you only like it when it isn't people you know?" The Governor snaps. "He left you out there in the woods to rot! He left you out there like a lamb to be slaughtered – they all did! He wasn't your friend, your family, not like we are. You've built a life here, Andrea, a life worth fighting for. We saved your life, Andrea, not him!"

"Michonne saved my life, Philip." Andrea snaps. "Michonne." She bites back tears as she thinks about their last exchange, the words exchanged between them. "I chose you." She says. "I chose you over her. Even after what I saw … what did I see?" She says. "What did I see, in those fish tanks? Why do you have them?"

"Because I need to be reminded every day, what we have!" He snaps. "What I'll do to protect it. Michonne didn't value that, and neither does Merle, or his brother. And if I have to, I'll add their heads to my collection."

Andrea takes another step away. "You're insane."

She's gone before The Governor can grab her, darting through the crowd just as a well-aimed punch sprawls Daryl on top of her. They go down in a tangle of arms and legs, his bulk knocking the life out of her. He smells like sweat and blood and the forest and all those smells she'd grown so used to, living out with them on the farm, and when she feels his blood, hot and slick on her arm, something snaps inside her.

"Get back!" She shouts, wriggling from under him and pulling her pistol from her waistband. "All of you, get back!"

She doesn't know who's more surprised: her, Daryl, The Governor or the crowd, but it obviously works because they part like the Red Sea, shocked at her display.

It's Merle who's in her face first. "Damn, Blondie." He leers, wiping blood and snot from his nose. His face looks like it's been put through a grinder and the sight of it makes her glad. Daryl fought back, like she knew he would. "Y'all developed a saviour complex."

"Get back." Andrea's got the gun in her face as she drags Daryl to his feet and prays that he can run because they're going to have to pound the pavements if they want to make it out alive. "All of you. Back, now."

"You'd better have an escape route planned." Daryl spits blood in her ear as his head lolls against her. "Think I might sit this one out."

"Not on your life, Dixon." Andrea whispers. "Because we've got about ten seconds before we get mobbed to death."

"This is your town, not mine. I'm just a tourist, took a wrong turn."

"Andrea, what are you doing?" The Governor looks confused. Andrea can understand that; she guesses that he isn't used to his perfect community answering back.

"I'm fighting back, Philip." Andrea snaps. "I'm fighting for my future."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belongs to Robert Kirkman and AMC. I just wrote this for fun with no copyright infringement intended.

###

They have a fifteen second head start before the crowd becomes a mob, a bloodthirsty, baying mob.

"Come on, Dixon." Andrea mutters. "Thought you were a tough guy who lived out in the woods for days and got poison oak on his ass."

She's half-carrying him, weaving through back-allies and side-streets to dodge the crowd. For the most part it's working, but Daryl's injured and he's heavy and she can feel her strength draining away and can smell their mutual fear. Its potent, like the ever-present smell of blood and dead flesh that has haunted the air for as long as she can remember.

He chuckles and spits up some blood, but his feet are moving a little more steadily now. "Can't believe you remember that story."

"Well it's either that or I tease you about how I almost shot you. Guess this makes us even now."

Daryl coughs and spits some more: more spittle, less blood. Andrea takes this as a good sign.

"Guess so." He winces and clutches at his side. "Real nice company you and my brother been keeping."

"Oh yeah, we're a highlight of the new Georgia Tourism Guide."

Andrea finds one door that's unlocked and looks sturdy and drags them both inside, taking care to close and lock the door behind her. It won't hold for long but it will buy them enough time to catch their breath and think about what their next move is. Hell, buy her enough time to _think_, period.

What _had_ she been thinking? _Had_ she been thinking? Or had she just acted?

Daryl slumps into a rickety old chair; he's barely visible in the dark but what she can see looks like a rag doll that's been discarded after strenuous play. He's breathing heavily and stifles a cough when they hear footsteps and voices tear past them. Andrea starts counting in her head; she reaches sixty when Daryl's voice is a hoarse whisper in the dark.

"Guess you burned whatever bridges ya had with these people, huh?" The wood creaks and she guesses that he's shifting, trying to get more comfortable. "Ya want to tell me what you were thinking, staging a prison break?"

"Well it looked like you could use it."

"I had it all under control." She can hear the indignation in his voice.

"Yeah, really looked like it, too." She inches closer, her boot stubbing against his. "How are you?"

"I'll live."

"Are you hurt bad?" She can feel the heat of him, all-encompasing in the closed-off space.

"How many bullets you got for that gun?"

"Can you walk? Run? You got in, think we'll be able to get out?" Her leg bumps against his and he winces.

"Didn't look to me like you were so eager to leave. Guess you guys been sitting pretty at the end of the world, right?"

"You left me out there, Daryl!" Andrea snaps. She saved his life and this is the thanks she gets, _seriously_?

He mutters something then. It sounds suspiciously like, "Not my call," But Andrea can't be sure and when she opens her mouth to call him on it, she hears voices outside their temporary hiding place and clamps a hand over his mouth, cutting off whatever else it is he's muttering. His skin is slick against hers, his stubble tickling her palm and she can feel his breath follow.

"Quiet." She whispers into the dark.

The door handle shakes and trembles as someone tests the lock and Andrea takes a step backwards, her hand flailing behind her. Its dark and she's relying on her other senses and everything feels different in the dark when you've got an angry crowd bearing down on you with nothing but a pistol and Daryl Dixon for company.

"We need to get out of here."

His voice in her ear is scarcely above a murmur, but he's managed to stand up behind her and grab something resembling a weapon; she can feel cold metal against her bare arm. "Ain't safe to stay here. Not for me, not for you, now."

"What did you have in mind?"

She waits for the breath she's been holding to leave her body now that whoever it is outside has left, but it doesn't. She's afraid to breathe, afraid to move; every nerve ending in her body feels fit to burst.

"It's your town. You tell me."

"You broke in here. You tell me."

Daryl exhales a long, ragged breath. "Over the wall, by the train tracks. We found a gap. We get lucky, we can get out the way we came in."

"And if we don't get lucky?"

Maybe it's the dark but Andrea feels weirdly disengaged from this whole conversation. She can feel Daryl, can hear him, definitely smell him, but she can't see him, can't see the look in his eyes, gauge the reaction in his face. Daryl was never one to show his emotions on his face but there's something strange about not being able to see him, not when she hasn't seen him for … she doesn't know how long.

"Then we see how fast we can run." He says.

###

They're in luck; by the time Andrea inches the door open, the alleyway is in darkness, the only noises coming from the other side of town.

"How far is it from here?"

"Couple minutes, if we run."

Daryl takes care to close the door behind them. He's picked up a mean-looking crowbar in their temporary shelter, but he's breathing heavily and she doesn't fancy his chance in a fight. Although Daryl's surprised her before; she should have more faith. Either way, his feet are lighter and quieter than hers as they begin to run.

"You know, once we get out of this you're gonna have to tell me how the hell you ended up here."

She smiles at that, the first smile she's had all day. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

They stick to the back alleys and cling to walls like Wisteria, Andrea's heart in her mouth the whole time. Woodbury might be a small place, but there's less than eighty people, probably forty who are able to search for them. It gives them a fighting chance, which is all they need.

It's weird, but being here with him like this reminds her of that night they searched for Sophia. Daryl was the first one to make her laugh, after Amy. The first one to ask her how she was, how she really was, with no judgement or guilt involved. How had she forgotten that? How had he forgotten that? She doesn't pretend to think that he thinks about her, but he searched for Sophia. He searched for Merle and so did Rick and the others; when did she become less important to the group than Merle? And if that's what they think of her, then why did she burn her bridges so spectacularly with Woodbury, with Philip? Why is she preparing to abandon her safe haven for who knows what?

"Hey, Andrea – you listening?"

Daryl nudges her arm with more force than is necessary, but when Andrea refocuses her gaze they're at the wall and Daryl's staring her with an inscrutable expression.

"What am I going to do out there?" She blurts out. Now that she's faced with the prospect of leaving, her choices from the past couple of hours are crashing down around her.

"Come again?" She can see Daryl's face now, bathed in the moonlight. He looks like he's gone several rounds in the ring, but she can't mistake the confusion in his eyes or his voice. "You serious?"

"I know it doesn't look like it, but I had a life here." She says, her gaze drifting from Daryl to something at his feet … a body. She doesn't recognise the face or the blue overalls; is he one of Daryl's new friends? Bile climbs up her throat.

Daryl follows her gaze and his own hardens. "That's the handiwork of the lie you built here, Andrea." He snaps. "That's the handiwork of the people you've been shacking up with. My goddamned face is their handiwork! So you want to stay here, then be my guest. Or come back with me. Come back home."

"Back home?" Andrea's raising her voice now, she can't help it. "You left me in the forest to fend for myself like I was garbage! You searched for Sophia, for your no-good brother – why not me?"

Daryl shakes his head. "Unbelievable." He mutters, his head snapping as he hears voices heading their way. "Look here, Andrea. I'll spell it out for ya: this spot here, is how we got in. This is how I'm gonna get out. You can stay, or come with me. It's all the same to me. But if you're coming with me then you need to quit your bitching, save it for later and come with me now. Which is it?"

Torchbeams stab at the darkness, voices get louder. Woodbury's denizens are getting closer; Andrea can almost feel the heat from their torches and the scrape of pitchforks on skin. Daryl's right: she won't be shown leniency, or clemency. However hard she worked to build a life for herself here, she made her choice the moment she pulled her gun. She made her  
choice the moment she decided to fight for her future.

"Andrea!"

When she glances up, Daryl's on top of the wall, clutching his side. He extends his hand, slick and dirty with grime and blood.

"Andrea, c'mon!"

Andrea grabs Daryl's hand and lets him pull her onto the wall. When he speaks, his voice is thick and rough and low in her ear.

"For the record, I wanted to go back for ya. Would have, if Rick hadn't stopped me."

She checks her pistol and peers over the wall. Its dark on the other side; she can too-easily remember the hell that's out there. But she meets his gaze and doesn't blink. It's like slipping back into a pair of shoes she used to love. "Where are we going?"

"Prison, up the road a ways. You able to walk?"

"You able to keep up?"

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Thanks so much for the reviews, guys!

Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belongs to Robert Kirkman and AMC. I just wrote this for fun with no copyright infringement intended.

Author's note: I couldn't remember the name of the prison, or if it had a name, so I made one up. Hope you don't mind.

###

Andrea has forgotten just how dark it is outside of Woodbury. Away from the curfews and the fire torches and the stolen hours of electricity, she'd forgotten how dark it is out here, beyond the wall. She reaches to her belt for her torch, but there's nothing there. All she's got is her pistol and a damaged Daryl Dixon.

He lands with less grace than she expected but still more than her, yelping out until he stuffs his fist in his mouth in case he draws attention to them. Andrea can hear voice behind her. They sound hurried but indistinct. Is one of them Philip? Has he sent someone out to find her, or is he trawling the streets, calling her name? Is his bed cold now that she isn't in it?

"You okay?" Daryl at least waits until she's finished puking her guts up to ask.

"Fine. Just needed to let it out."

"Yeah, well you need to puke and walk because we're gonna have company real fast if we stay here much longer."

"You know where we're going?" She says as they walk, Daryl silently moving through the woods with Andrea in hot pursuit.

"We're holed up in a prison, couple miles from here."

"You know how to get there?"

"Please." He snorts, leading them deeper into the forest. "You been living behind walls to long if ya gotta ask me that."

"Well since I'm traipsing off into the forest with you, I think it's a valid question."

He turns and looks over his shoulder, his face only partially visible in the moonlight. "Never stopped ya before." He snaps. "Unless ya think I'm a terrorist now, like all your buddies back there."

"Don't you judge me for finding somewhere to call home, Daryl. We weren't all as lucky as you to make it off the farm in one piece."

She expects him to get in her face, to snap at her, say …. Something angry, or snarky, or anything else like that. But he doesn't. He just shakes his head and looks … sad. It isn't a look she's ever seen on Daryl before, which is why it takes her a little while to place it. How has he changed, in the time apart?

"You don't know what you're talking about." Is all he says.

###

"Been out here awhile. Your friends not come looking for you?" Daryl sounds laboured and short. They'll need to rest soon unless this prison's close by.

"They don't come out after dark."

"Pussies."

"You don't even know them."

She doesn't have to see Daryl's shrug, she can feel it in the air, hear it in his voice, that lazy shoulder lift he gives when he's the duck and life's the water rolling off his back.

"Know all I need to know." He says. "Puttin' people in a ring for sport ain't the mark of anyone but cowards, you get me?"

"The Romans used to do it. Does that make them cowards, too?"

"Wouldn't know about that. Not like it matters, anyhow." He stumbles and leans against a tree for support, coughing and wheezing.

"We need to stop for the night."

"Can't." His breath's shallow and laboured. "Too many walkers."

"Well how far away is the prison?"

"Mile, maybe two."

"We need a car."

"Probably a bunch on the road if you can find one with gas and keys."

Andrea checks the bullets in her gun, like she hasn't been doing it every minute for however long it is they've been out here. It was dark when they escaped and now the sun's slowly peeking through the sky and bringing the heat along with it.

"Come on." She moves to grab his arm and help him up but he shrugs her off.

"Don't need your help."

"Well you did a couple hours ago and the last I checked, that hadn't changed. So unless you have any better ideas, we're going to find a car and get out of here."

She moves to help him again and once more, he shrugs her off. "I'm fine." He insists.

As Daryl predicted, most of the cars are abandoned on the side of the road, tanks empty and keys long gone, and the longer they search the most anxious Andrea gets. She'd forgotten how exposed highways were, and even though there's trees on either side of this road, its wide open and bathed in moonlight like a long target strip. The longer they stay here, the easier prey they are for the living and the dead.

"Here's one with a sliver of gas." Andrea tugs on the door handle, sighing when it opens.

"Keys in there?" Daryl's at her side just as walkers appear in the distance: one, two, then more than he can count. They need to be fast.

"No. Shit!"

Andrea fumbles on the floor, praying that she knocked them out of the ignition or glove box when she got in the car, finding little but used-up gum wrappers and a set of jump leads.

"Move over." Daryl pushes her into the passenger seat and slams the door behind him, taking car to lock the door first. "Shit." He fumbles at the steering column. "This would be a hell of a lot easier if we had some light."

"Daryl." Andrea turns around to find the walkers within striking distance and closing fast.

"I know."

"Hurry!"

"I know!"

The first walker's a woman who bangs on the rear window with decayed hands, spitting blood and pile onto the glass.

"Get out there and shut her up before she brings her friends." Daryl says, but Andrea's already out the car, Daryl's crowbar in hand.

"Just don't take too long."

"Yeah, you try doing this in the dark with two black eyes."

Andrea makes short work of the walker, and there's no denying the rush it gives her, a rush she's missed. Safe as she's felt in Woodbury, the fire that burns her blood when she kills walkers makes her feel drunk and now she's had a taste, she just wants more.

Of course, where one walker comes, more follow, and there are three more already in striking distance. She pushes one away with the crowbar and caves in the other's skull, but they're too grabby and too fast and she uses her pistol to despatch the other two.

"What the hell are you doing?" Daryl roars from the front seat as a walker bangs on the window. She can see him jerk away from the glass, but he's got no weapon except how long the glass can hold out. "You trying to bring your buddies and every walker in the state down on top of us?"

"Can't you just focus on getting us out of here?"

Andrea makes short work of Daryl's walker, although there's more on the horizon and they're closing fast. When the engine roars to life she sighs and sags against the door until the walkers descend on them. She fends off the first one with the crowbar, but the others smash the glass and reach for Daryl, grabbing at his shirt and hair.

"Andrea!"

Daryl leans back and kicks out, catching one walker in the head. Its flesh is soft and spongy and his boot is strong and it makes short work of the walker. He's out the car to help her, but Andrea's too busy using up her bullets on the walkers that surround her.

"Andrea, come on!" Daryl grabs her at the waist and drags her back into the car, dumping her on the passenger seat and peeling off the road all at the same time, the walkers soon nothing but nightmares on the road.

"How much gas does this thing have?" Andrea checks her bullets. She's used up too many on the road. Shit.

"Not enough."

"Well will we have enough to get to the prison?"

"Maybe." He wipes his head and Andrea can see the blood on his hand.

"Did you cut yourself?"

"Least of our worries right now."

"How far to the prison?"

Daryl's eyes flicker to the road, searching for a sign. "We're going east, following the tracks. Should hit the turnoff in a mile, maybe two."

They drive in silence for a few minutes until Andrea speaks. "Did you mean it, back there?"

"Mean what?" Daryl's words are beginning to slur.

"What you said, about going back for me at the farm."

"We don't leave anyone else behind." Daryl's eyes snap shut and the car jerks off the road.

"Daryl!" Andrea grabs the wheel and rights the car. "You're concussed. Let me drive."

"I'm fine. Leave me be."

"Pull over and let me drive."

"We stop the car I don't think we'll get it started again. I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Daryl, you're hurt."

"No thanks to your buddies." Daryl's head jerks forward again and Andrea grabs the wheel.

"Take your foot off the gas, Daryl."

"I'm fine."

His words are slurred, if insistent, and the car grinds to a halt in the middle of the road. The engine hasn't cut out yet, but Daryl's head lolls against the headrest, his vision swimming.

"Not far now." He mutters.

Andrea grabs his shoulders and drags him into the passenger seat. It's a difficult task since he's heavy and borderline unconscious, but as Andrea slides across him into the driver's seat, she spies a sign, barely visible in the moonlight: Woodbury County Prison.

"Almost there."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

I'm so overwhelmed by the response this fic has had, guys :-) You're the greatest.

Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belongs to Robert Kirkman and AMC, I just wrote this for fun with no copyright infringement intended.

###

They run out of gas a half-mile from the prison.

"Shit. Shit!" Andrea exclaims as the car grinds to a halt on the tarmac road that's long since gone to seed. "No, no, please, just a little further. Shit!"

She glances around, searching for signs of life, but all she can see is endless chicken wire and overgrown foliage. She's been to enough prisons to know that there should be a guard tower, cell blocks, an exercise yard, but she can't see any of that. Is she in the right place?

"Well you're no help." She says to Daryl, who's sprawled out, unconscious on the passenger seat, his muddy boots digging into her legs.

Not that it matters: they aren't going anywhere.

"Daryl." She shakes his shoulder. "Daryl." Another shoulder shake, harder this time. "Great."

She figures she'll check around before coming back for Daryl; she's can't carry him so she's covered him with a blanket, away from prying eyes. Fear and adrenaline course through her veins. She's hasn't felt this pumped since she fled the farm. She checks her gun again, wishing that she could double or quadruple her ammo just by looking at it. She takes the crowbar, scouts the backseat for anything else that could be used as a weapon and coming away empty. She stares at the crowbar, testing its weight. She's never acquired Daryl's comfort for up close and personal combat, but she's got no choice. Her eyes flicker to the rearview mirror; she doesn't recognise herself. How long has it been since she did?

An hand shoots out and grabs her arm as she opens the door.

"What the hell you think you're doing?" Daryl's voice is groggy and heavy but he's struggling to sit up.

"I'm going to get help." He looks worse in the daylight; Andrea's afraid to look at him.

"The hell you are, leaving me here by myself. Took my damned crowbar."

"You were unconscious!"

"Well I ain't now."

Andrea rolls her eyes. "Daryl, you're hurt. Stay here while I check this place out."

"Like hell."

He takes the crowbar from her and fumbles with his own door handle. Andrea's parked too close to the bushes so they have to clamber out of her side, Daryl brushing off Andrea's offers of help.

Its an uphill hike to the chicken wire fence; Andrea's panting even in this early morning heat. As they crest the hill she can see some buildings: the familiar watch tower, a squat, depressing building that can only be a cell block. There's few walkers, though; most of them lie on the grass, their heads caved in.

"How long have you guys been here?" She says as she follows Daryl's lead. He seems to know exactly where they're going; she's always been jealous of his in-built sat-nav.

"Hard to say. Couple weeks, maybe. We ain't exactly marking the days."

There's a gap in the chicken wire; you'd have to be really looking for it to see it, but Daryl spies it and slips through, holding the clipped wire apart for Andrea to squeeze through. He closes the gap behind them and begins to move, not even pausing when he coughs and winces. The guard tower looms on their right, more barracks and yet more chicken wire ahead. Something flashes in the guard tower; two figures moving, waving.

"Glen!" Daryl cries out and waves his hands. "Maggie!"

Two figures comes out of the tower; Andrea's pretty sure that one's Maggie, which means the other one could only be Glen, but they're far away and his face isn't how she remembers, so she isn't sure. But they call Daryl's name and point to something that Daryl seems to understand, because his pace quickens and he grabs Andrea's arm, hauling her along.

"Word of advice." Daryl says as others crest the hill and run towards them; Andrea recognises Rick and Carl Grimes right away. "Don't ask about Shane Or … Lori."

Daryl stumbles over her name, a flash of pain in his eyes and all Andrea can think is _what have I missed while I've been gone?_

"What-" Andrea opens her mouth to say more, but the Grimes men are on them both then, Rick hugging Daryl to him like they haven't seen each other in years, whispering words like 'brother' in his ear and it makes Andrea look away. He hasn't even acknowledged Andrea until Carl nudges him and three sets of eyes swing Andrea's way.

Rick blinks one, two, three times, staring at her like she's come back from the dead. Daryl whispers something in Rick's ear that Andrea doesn't catch, but Rick takes a step towards her.

"Andrea."

###

For all Daryl's barbs about her sitting pretty, the prison's more secure than Woodbury ever was. Or at least, that's how it appears to Andrea as she sits in a cell and watches Herschel fuss over Daryl, the others alternating between staring at her and staring at the hunter.

"I'm fine."

Daryl brushes off Herschel's hands with gusto, although Andrea can see that his strength is fading fast, now that he's back with his familiars. His gaze finds hers, though, and his eyes flicker with something. Thanks, maybe? A welcome home? She isn't sure, but Rick's at her side then, taking her arm and pulling her from the cell, Maggie, Glen and Carl in hot pursuit.

"Can't believe we used to send people here for a living." She says to Rick, although quite how she's managing to keep a civil tongue in her head is anyone's guess. She never expected to see the group that abandoned her again, and now, here they are, two lawmakers standing in a prison at the end of the world.

"I'm seeing more and more the world's funny like that. Daryl tells me you saved his life in that town."

"Woodbury." Andrea meets Rick's gaze and dares him, just _dares him_ to start trash-talking because right now, she isn't in the mood.

"Yeah." Rick's jaw bunches into a tight line. "Woodbury."

Rick's different to how Andrea remembered. They're all different now, but he seems the most altered to her. She thinks about the man she knew, the Sheriff, Shane's best friend … Shane … she hasn't thought about him in so long. He'd learned far sooner than Rick that the best thing and the right thing weren't always the same, and Rick seems to have finally worked that out. There's a hardness to him that she never really wanted to see.

"Mighty convenient how they all just let you walk out." Maggie says. "Michonne tells us that you've become quite the model citizen."

Andrea turns her attention to Herschel's eldest girl. She and Maggie were never big fans of each other and it seems as though time hasn't altered that, but there's undisguised venom in Maggie's eyes that Andrea just doesn't understand.

"Michonne's here?" She manages to say.

"Came to us for help." Rick says. "Was bleeding out, hurt bad."

"Where is she, can I see her? Is she alright?"

"She'll be fine. No thanks to your friends."

Andrea grinds her teeth and looks from one face to another. Desite her rage, there's real fear behind Maggie's eyes and Glen looks like he ran through a meat grinder and came off worse.

"I didn't walk out." She says. "I escaped, just like Daryl did. He'd be dead if I hadn't intervened, so I made a choice."

"So he's told me." Rick says.

"What, you don't believe me now?" Andrea can't believe she's hearing this. Unbelievable.

"What I believe, Andrea, is that we were almost killed -"

"After you broke into our town and killed our people!" Andrea snaps.

Rick continues as though she hasn't spoken. "- rescuing our people who were taken captive and almost murdered at the hands of your friends."

"You know, for all your talk of friendship, Rick, they saved my life." Andrea snaps, taking a step forwards so she's in Rick Grimes' face, blue eyes meeting blue and not yielding. "They took me in when Michonne and I were almost dead, and made me feel safe for the first time since this mess began. My last group of friends left me for dead in the forest while they saved their own hides. You want me to jog your memory? A farm, walkers in a barn, your wife?"

"Don't talk about my wife."

Andrea grinds her teeth and refuses to back down. "You want to talk about friends, you be my guest. Because you left me for dead, you sorry son of a bitch. You all did."

She pushes past the group, anger simmering inside of her, but Rick grabs her arm and stops her.

"I can't let you walk out of here."

She jerks her arm free. "You try and stop me, Rick."

He turns to Glen and Maggie, both of whom have pulled guns from nowhere. They aren't pointing them at her, but they're not exactly pointing them away from her, either. She moves for her own weapon until she remembersw that Carl took it. He's got it now, in his hand. They all stare each other down until Rick speaks.

"Take her to a cell until we figure out what to do with her."

"Are you kidding me?" Now Andrea really can't believe it.

"Do I look like I'm anything other than serious?"

Andrea looks from one face to another, incredulous. "Is this what happens to people who disobey you now, Rick?" She snaps as Glen takes her arm and gives her a look that borders on guilty. "If people disagree with you, you just toss them in a cell, throw away the key? How would you have felt if Herschel had done that to you when you hijacked his farm and demanded he operate on your kid?"

"Use the second floor." Rick says to Glen, although Andrea notes that he doesn't look at Maggie or Carl. "Make sure she's got food, water. See if Carol can find her some clothes."

"I'm talking to you!" Andrea shouts. "Who died and made you judge, jury and executioner?"

Rick's back stiffens, his head downcast. "Good to see you're okay, Andrea."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belongs to Robert Kirkman and AMC. I just wrote this for fun with no copyright infringement intended.

###

Andrea's had apartments smaller than her cell, but this is the first time in a long time she's been forcibly locked in a small, enclosed space and its making her antsy. Pacing soon gets old, and the others are speaking too quietly for her to eavesdrop. Her ears burn though, so she's pretty sure that she's the hot topic of conversation. She doesn't want to sit on the bed for fear of what she'll find on the sheets, so she settles for sitting on the cold, hard floor until Carol's face appears through the bars, the first of her old group to come see her.

The last time Andrea saw Carol was at the farm; Andrea had just saved her life and Carol had thanked her by high-tailing it out of there as soon as she could.

"Hey." There's real remorse and sorrow in Carol's eyes.

"Hey yourself." Andrea doesn't get up, just stares as Carol unlocks the cell (they locked the cell? Are they serious?), and gingerly steps inside.

"Thanks for bringing Daryl back. He, uh, he told us what you did."

"He did, huh."

Carol takes another step inside the cell. "It's good to see you."

Andrea opens her mouth to reply to Carol, but the words die on her lips. Is it good to see Carol, really? What words can she say to the woman who left her for dead?

"Thanks." Is all she can manage.

"I … I can't imagine what you must think of us all. Of me."

"Oh, I'm sure you could guess if you put your mind to it." Andrea isn't in the mood to make chit-chat or be charitable. She saves Daryl's life and brings him here, only to be locked up like the criminals she used to prosecute? _Seriously?_

Carol inches her way into the cell, and Andrea can see her properly. She got some kind of stupid scarf wrapped around her hair, and there's muscle definition in her arms where none previously existed, but there's still that aura of perpetual sadness clinging to the older woman. Andrea would never say it out loud, but she's surprised that Carol's lasted as long as she has.

Carol smiles and holds a pile of clean clothes in her hands. "Carl found the prison supply block." Carol sets the items on Andrea's bed and brushes imaginary lint from the sheets, not quite able to look Andrea in the eye. "There's not much, its mainly shirts and jumpsuits, but they're clean. I got you a small, it should fit. If it doesn't I can get you something else-"

"I'm sure it will be fine."

"We all thought you were dead. After the farm." Carol's brushing gets more intense and erratic. "If I had known … I thought you were right behind me and when I turned around, all I could see was-"

"None of you thought to check?" Andrea can't keep the derision out of her voice.

"Daryl wanted to, he really did." Carol's eyes are shining with sincerity. "After we met up on the highway, he wanted to go back, would have if Rick hadn't stopped him."

"And just who died and made Rick President?"

"I haven't always agreed with everything Rick's done, but go easy on him." Carol's eyes fill with tears. "You don't know what he's done, what's happened."

"Yeah, you're right, I don't. But you're all so quick to judge me, to judge my friends in Woodbury – so quick to judge that you've locked me in here until you make up your mind about whether I'm a threat or not. I saved your life, Carol."

"I know."

"I saved your life, saved all of you. And this is how you treat me? None of you know what I've done, what's happened to me, what's happened to any of us." Andrea exhales a long breath. Rage aside, she's exhausted. "We've all been through hell." She says eventually. "No-one's gotten off easy. Just … thanks for the clothes, alright?"

"Sure." Carol glances over her shoulder, listening and watching. In the background Andrea can hear what sounds like a high-pitched wail. "Andrea … Shane's dead. I know you two were close, back on the farm-"

Andrea's knuckles whiten. She hasn't thought about Shane in so long, but she's had a lot of time to think since Rick had her locked up like a criminal. Thought about Shane, thought about Philip, thought about her choices. Was she wrong, to ally herself with him? Was there a right choice, if hers was wrong? What do right and wrong even mean, anymore?

"Shane and I weren't close, but … how did he die?"

Something dark and forgotten crosses Carol's face. "I don't know, exactly. Rick … he did what he had to do."

"I'm sure he did."

"T-Dog's dead." Carol's voice shakes and her eyes fill with tears. "Lori, too."

Andrea sinks onto the bed. She was never Lori's biggest fan, but the idea that Rick let something happen to his beloved wife is hard to hear.

"Lori."

"She was pregnant. There were … complications. Rick … he's only just come back to us." Carol's about to say more but footsteps outside Andrea's cell stop them both.

"Daryl." Andrea can't keep the surprise out of her voice. She didn't expect to see him but it's foolish to think that Daryl would have remained the same when everyone else has changed. "What are you doing here?"

Daryl's eyes flit around her cell. "Put ya in the penthouse. Ain't no-one up here for company but ghosts."

"How reassuring."

"How are you feeling?" Carol's eyes are soft when she looks at Daryl, some inscrutable _something_ passing between them. They've been close ever since Daryl searched for Sophia, and Andrea's wonders about how they've grown since she saw them last. They're an odd couple to be sure, but isn't everyone at the end of the world?

"I'll live, according to Herschel."

Carol looks at Andrea, her eyes soft and shining with thanks and it's all Andrea can do but dip her head and nod.

"I'll let you get changed. Holler if you need anything." Carol's gone before either of them can say any more, and Andrea can feel Daryl's eyes on her as she begins to sort through the clothes that Carol brought.

"Figured you'd be downstairs with Rick, plotting ways to torture information out of me. That's why you've got me locked in here, right?"

"It ain't personal. Can't afford to take any chances."

Andrea rolls her eyes. "Of course it's personal. Rick thinks I'm a traitor. Or a spy. Probably both."

"He doesn't think that."

Daryl inches his way into her new home, moving a little awkwardly. In the light his face looks worse than ever but his skin glistens with something clear and viscous, something Herschel's cooked up, no doubt.

"How are you feeling?"

He shrugs. "Felt better. Felt a whole lot worse."

"Well, you look like shit."

"Looks worse than it is."

Daryl's different, Andrea decides as she watches him pick at a stray thread on her bed. While Rick's become harder, Daryl's become … not softer, but it's like he's taken some of his hardness and given it to Rick. Or maybe Rick just stole it from Daryl, happened upon him like a thief that probably lived in one of these cells. She can't see it, though; Daryl would never allow something to be taken that he didn't want to give. Does that mean that he's let his guard down more, let the others see the man she caught a glimpse of in the woods when they searched for Sophia?

"So did Rick send you up here to get information out of me? Figured that since we'd spent all night together and I'd saved your life, I'd be more inclined to talk to you and spill Woodbury's secrets?"

"Wow." Daryl sounds incredulous. "Those guys really made you paranoid, huh?"

"You want to talk about paranoid? Take a look around. You're the ones who locked me in here."

"Rick's got good reason to be paranoid."

"So everyone keeps telling me."

"I didn't come up here to grill ya. Just wanted to say thanks, for savin' me, bringin' me back."

"Well I wasn't going to let them kill you."

"You coulda. Woulda been easy." Daryl snaps his fingers to illustrate his point.

"Not to me. But … you're welcome."

The pair stare at each other for a moment until Daryl nods once and turns to leave.

"Daryl?" Andrea catches him as he leaves, his skin slick and hot to the touch. "Carol told me that you wanted to go back for me, after we got overrun."

He shrugs. "You're a good shot. We were weaker without you. We shouldn't leave people behind. Ain't right."

"Would have been easy." Andrea snaps her fingers and he smirks at her imitation.

"Not to me."

Andrea gives him a smile, the first real one she's had since she arrived here. "Well, you're welcome."

Her smile seems to please Daryl, for his lips curl upwards just slightly. "You too."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Thanks so much for the reviews, guys. They are very much appreciated. Who knew there were so many secret Daryl-Andrea 'shippers! There's an awesome Livejournal community for them if anyone is interested, you should check it out!

Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belongs to Robert Kirkman and AMC. I just wrote this for fun with no copyright infringement intended.

###

Andrea hasn't even met this famed Baby Judith but she's already predisposed to dislike her.

She doesn't know what time it is, only that it was just dawn when they arrived at the prison and its now hot and slick inside this cell, and Judith started crying just as sunrise became daylight, and hasn't stopped. Her wails and shrieks echo around the prison like a banshee wail and it grates on Andrea's already frazzled nerves. End of the world or not, Judith's a whinger, just like her mother. And the worst part? Is that Judith's tyrant father and disobedient older brother have locked her in this cell, with nowhere to go.

Maybe she should have just taken her chances in Woodbury. At least her death would have been quick, not this slow torture.

"Brought you some breakfast."

Andrea removes the pillow from her face (they're always such good sound mufflers in movies; clearly prison pillows leave a lot to be desired) and finds Glen standing on the other side of her cell door, holding a tray in one hand and a set of keys in the other.

"Must be more like lunch time, now."

Andrea watches Glen as he struggles to unlock the door and balance the tray at the same time. Like Daryl he looks like he's gone a few rounds himself, and Andrea flushes when she thinks about her two sets of friends beating and killing each other. Was she so naïve, to think they had the most to fear from the dead?

"Looks nasty." She says as he sets the tray on the small table next to her bed.

"Looks worse than it feels."

"That's what Daryl said."

They watch each other a little warily, until Andrea tucks her legs under her and scoots over, and Glen takes the invitation and sinks onto the bed.

"It was a good thing you did, bringing him back here."

"I don't understand why people keep thanking me for that, like it's something I wouldn't have done anyway."

Glen's face flushes. "Well it doesn't take Einstein to work out why you wouldn't want to help us. Must have been a shock, seeing Daryl in …"

"Woodbury." Andrea reminds him.

"Woodbury, right." Glen nods once, as though committing the name to memory. "Michonne told us a little about it. She wanted to go back for you, you know."

"How is she?"

"She's pretty banged up, but Herschel's fixed her up."

"You want to tell me what happened to his leg?"

Glen looks down, picking at her blanket. "Walkers. In the prison. Happened while we were clearing it out."

"How come he isn't dead?"

"Rick cut off the leg before the infection took hold." Glen doesn't look at her. "He's changed, Andrea."

"We've all changed, Glen."

"Rick most of all. You didn't know what it was like out there, over the winter. What it's been like, here."

"Glen, no offense, but I do know what it's been like out there. Michonne and I survived out there all winter, probably with a lot less than you did. And none of you know what it was like in Woodbury, either."

"Why don't you tell me?"

Andrea's surprised by his request, but then, Glen's always been the least judgemental, the most fair of the group. She remembers Dale's fatherly affection for the young man. It makes her smile. She hasn't thought about Dale in so long. Too long. All these people dead and gone that she's forgotten.

"They took us in, fixed me up. I would have died if they hadn't saved me. It's a small place, not many people, but it's a community, a family. Or at least, that's what I thought. It's what most people  
there think."

"Daryl told us about the, uh … the arena."

Andrea couldn't respond to that. What could she say? There's no way to make it less barbaric than it is, and a part of her is ashamed to admit to Glen – dear, sweet Glen – that she had liked it, had taken pleasure in watching grown men beat the shit out of each other.

Maybe she should have just stayed in Woodbury, after all.

"How long are you going to keep me in here?"

This time it's Glen who takes his time to respond. "We don't know."

"You waiting for the Ricktator to pass judgement?"

Glen's mouth twitches upwards at her nickname, but he stops himself before it's a full-blown smirk. "Guess you must have your own opinions of us now, huh?"

"No more than you do of me. And you only have yourselves to thank for that. But I saved Daryl's life, brought him back to you. That's got to count for something, hasn't it? Because right now it's more than any of you can say. So either let me out, kill me, or march me to the fence and let me go fend for myself. Just don't keep me cooped up in here."

"I'll let you eat your breakfast. It's nothing fancy, but we thought you might be hungry."

Glen's gone before Andrea can say anything more. He locks the door behind him. Andrea throws her bowl at the cell door; oatmeal drips off the bars and onto the floor.

###

Glen's really not kidding: what's left of her lunch looks like little more than rice with some colourful lumps that could be anything, so she eats around them, thinks about hurling them at her next visitor. They're hard and nasty, she could probably leave bruises if she put enough effort into it. She can hear more hushed whispering downstairs, a mixture of male and female voices and as always, that never-ending wail.

"You know, I can hear you!" She calls out through the bars, even though she can't not really. They stop talking. Except for Judith.

"And can someone shut that kid up?" She smirks. If they're going to keep her in here then she's going to be as uncooperative as possible. "It's giving me a headache."

###

Michonne is her next visitor, limping up to Andrea's cell, sidestepping the oatmeal and giving her that same blank stare that Andrea's been treated to ever since their first encounter in the woods, all those months ago.

"Michonne." Andrea's off her bed and at the door, gripping the bars as she'd seen so many prisoners do in her time.

Michonne stares at Andrea, her eyes roaming her face. "You're alive."

Like Daryl and Glen, Michonne looks bruised and banged up. An occupational hazard of all who go to Woodbury. It's impossible to tell what her old friend is thinking, but it's always been that way; Michonne never gave what she didn't want to give. She's like Daryl, that way.

"How are you?"

Michonne rubs at the bruise on her arm. It's bad but nothing to the gash and heavy bruising on her face, or the bandage on her leg. "I'll live." Her gaze moves to the oatmeal, which is now congealing on the floor. "You okay?"

"Never better. You come to tell me how bad a day Rick's having and that's why he's keeping me locked up here, like he's still a Sheriff? Because that's what everyone else seems to want to do."

"I told Rick to let you out. Daryl, too."

"And let me guess: he didn't agree?"

"If he has his reasons then he isn't sharing them with me." Michonne's gaze travels over Andrea's face, moving south. "Did the Governor hurt you?"

"No."

"What about Merle?"

"I can take care of myself, Michonne."

"Yeah. I saw that when you were sticking a gun in my face."

"You didn't exactly give me a lot of choice!" Andrea bites back. "You wouldn't tell me what was wrong, the whole time we were in Woodbury."

"I didn't trust them. Turns out I was right."

"But you didn't tell me why you didn't trust them!"

"I shouldn't have needed to!" Michonne snaps, and Andrea can see then, see the emotions warring on her friend's face: worry and friendship and hurt and fear. "I saved your life! We stayed together all winter. How could you not trust me?"

"Because you gave me no reason to, Michonne! You can't just say, 'I don't trust him' and not give a reason and then expect me to go along with it, not when they saved my life. Because they did, Michonne. I know you don't want to hear it but they did: they saved my life as much as you did."

Michonne opens her mouth to say more but snaps it shut when two figures loom against the cell bars.

"Well if it isn't the Ricktator." Andrea mutters.

Rick stops inches from the bars, his gaze on the oatmeal. "Judith's cries really carry up here."

"Told ya, man." Daryl speaks to Rick, but his eyes are on Andrea. "You okay?"

"Tired and pissed off. Didn't get much sleep last night. Or this morning."

Daryl's bruises have turned dark purple, but in the harsh light of day its Rick who looks worse, looks the most aged by their new world. His hair's threaded with grey, is unkempt the way it never was in the farm. He needs a shower and shave, smells bad in a way that she can't quite put her finger on. His fingers tap incessantly on his pistol. He's a living, breathing coil of rage and guilt and self-recrimination.

Rick's gaze flickers from Daryl to Andrea and back again. "Ain't often Daryl and I disagree anymore."

"I'll circle the calendar."

Rick watches her with a blank expression that sends cold shivers up her back. It's like he's seeing through her and trying to see into her soul all at the same time.

"We don't disagree often. But we did about this, about keeping you locked up here. See, I question your motives, your reasons for bringing Daryl back. I wonder if you're a spy, meant to lure us into a false sense of security. And I have it on good authority that the people you've been mixing with ain't exactly the friendly type."

"You tried looking in a mirror recently?"

Rick gives her something that some would call a grin. "Guess I deserved that. Must be strange for you, coming back to us after all this time, after what happened."

"Not exactly the word I'd use."

"Like I said, Daryl and I don't disagree often. We did about this. I question your motives. Daryl doesn't, says you saved his life, at considerable risk to your own. Thinks you shouldn't be locked up here like the people we both used to put in here." His eyes flicker to Michonne. "And he isn't the only one. So my question is this: can I trust you?"

"And my question to you is this: can I trust you? Let me ask you something, Rick: if I had been Lori, would you have been so quick to high-tail it off the farm?"

Daryl shifts his stance and looks down, tension threading down his spine like a metal rod. Something dark and dead crosses Rick's face, and he leans close to the bars, his spit coating the metal.

"I'm gonna let that one go, since you feel like we abandoned you. I got no problem with you feeling that way; if I was in your place I'd probably feel the same way. But you talk about Lori again and we'll be having a very different conversation. We clear?"

"Crystal."

She and Rick stare each other down for several seconds until Rick jerks his head in Daryl's direction.

"Let her out."

His boots echo almost as loud as Judith's wails as he walks off, not bothering to glance back.

Michonne looks from Daryl to Andrea. "I promised Maggie I'd make a supply run with her." She's gone then too, leaving Daryl and Andrea alone.

Daryl pulls a giant hoop of keys from his belt, slides on home and twists, and the cell doors open with a reassuring clang. His hand closes over Andrea's as she moves to push the door open, his eyes boring into hers. His skin's hot and slick, the way it was in Woodbury.

"Put my ass on the line for you with Rick." His voice is low, dangerous like it used to be. "Hate bein' wrong about people. I wrong about you?"

"You know you aren't."

"Good. 'Cos I was just in the guard tower and it looks like your friends have come lookin' for ya."

TBC …


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belongs to Robert Kirkman and AMC, I just wrote this for fun with no copyright infringement intended.

###

Its hot in the guard tower and it smells like stale sweat, and Andrea can spy a discarded pair of lacy women's panties in the corner.

"Who the hell comes up here?"

Daryl follows her gaze, smirks at the lacy scrap. "Maggie and Glen come up here to keep watch."

"Keep watch over what?" Andrea shakes her head, smiles. "Maggie and Glen. Never would have thought it."

"End of the world makes you think about things a little differently."

"Clearly."

Andrea's smile dims when Carol appears in the guard tower with a tray of food. The older woman throws a cautious, guilty smile Andrea's way but her eyes are on the hunter, bright and glittering.

"Thought you two might want some lunch. What's the news on our visitors?"

"Scoutin' around in the bushes, far as I can tell." Daryl's back is to both women, binoculars raised to his eyes. "Count one, two …. Five. Merle's with 'em. Guy looks like shit."

"What does Rick want you to do?"

Carol's at Daryl's side, peering over his shoulder, the skin on her throat brushing against his arm. Andrea bites into the lukewarm gruel that passes for food in this place, marvels at how much Carol has changed. It's like the Carol that Andrea knew is dead and gone, and this new creature is walking around in her skin. What has happened, in the months she's been gone?

"Nothin' for now." Daryl beckons Andrea closer with his hand, his gaze not leaving the people milling around. "Andrea, c'm'here. Tell me how many you recognise."

The binoculars are thrust into Andrea's hand and she puts them to her eyes, the eyepiece warm and wet with sweat. Her fingers shake when she puts them to her eyes, suddenly terrified of seeing Philip's face, swollen and engorged and completely in her line of vision. When nothing but a handful of his lackeys crowded the view screen, she breathes a sigh of relief.

"Aside from your brother, they aren't anyone. The Governor's henchmen." She returns the binoculars, surprised that her hands are still shaking. "They do patrols of the neighboring areas. Phil … The Governor told me that they had captured two terrorists from a prison."

"Merle took Glen and Maggie." Carol's voice is accusatory. "Were they his terrorists?"

"I don't know. I didn't see them. I didn't even know they were in Woodbury until I got here."

Daryl's hand closes over Andrea's for a split as he retrieves the binoculars. "What can you tell me about 'em?"

"Nothing, really. I never went on any patrols."

"What?" Daryl looks surprised. "They ain't seen you with a pistol?"

"There weren't any weapons allowed in Woodbury." Andrea looks down. Suddenly her cheeks are burning and she remembers how easily she allowed her prowess to be dismissed by easy smiles and soft touches. "The Governor was very … particular about who he let go on patrol, who he let have weapons. You had to earn it."

Daryl nods once, makes for the stairwell. "Rick wants to see you."

"Is he going to lock me up again? Because if he is then I have nothing to say to him."

"That's between you and him. He wants to know about Woodbury, the Governor, everything. Glen and Maggie got one story." Daryl cocks his head to one side. "Now Rick wants to hear yours." He turns to Carol, who's already got her eye sighted down a rifle scope, the barrel trained on their new interlopers. "Any of 'em get close, you know what to do?"

"Relax, Daryl." Carol breaks her concentration to give him a warm smile. "I know what to do."

Andrea can only stand agape and stare at this much-altered creature until Daryl takes her hand and jerks her away.

###

Rick's in what must have once been the prison warden's office when Andrea and Daryl find him. He's sat at the big, functional wooden desk, picking through the files that have been flung around the office.

"We should consider ourselves lucky that most of these guys are dead." He returns the papers to the files and closes the nude files. "Rapists, murderers, child molesters … these are not the guys we would want for cellmates, or loose for the rest of the world to fear."

"Guess this doesn't feel like such a step up for you." Andrea inches into the office, picks up a letter stamp, twirls it in her fingers, ink flaking from the rubber markings. "Sitting pretty, locking up badguys and keeping all the paperwork in nice, neat little piles. Bet you even had a cute little stamp like this one."

Rick laughs, shakes his head. "Could say the same thing about you. Look at us both: it's the end of the world and here we are, the lawyer and the lawman sitting behind bars and thanking God for them."

"Guess life's funny like that." Daryl mutters.

Rick gestures that she sits down, looking far too at home behind that big desk, but then, Andrea sits down and immediately reaches for a pen; guess we don't slough off our old skins that easily, after all.

"Looks like your friends from Woodbury have come looking for you."

"I wouldn't count on that." She replies.

"Well, why else would they be out there, combing the woods?"

"Maybe they wanted some exercise."

Rick laughs, looks anything but amused. Then the smile's gone as soon as its there. "Try again."

"I don't know why they're out here. Guess I left my telepathy in my other pair of pants."

"They want something."

Andrea wipes her brow, comes away dirty and sweaty. She wants her pistol, hasn't felt right without it since they took it from her. "You guys did break into their town, kill a load of their kin and cause chaos. That would put a dampener on anyone's day."

"Tell us about Woodbury."

Daryl's voice is soft behind her, and when Andrea turns her head he's dragged a chair next to her and sits just out of reach, pushing against her chair leg and tipping his own onto the back legs. It's the first time she's seen him still since her impromptu jailbreak.

She shrugs. "What do you want to know?"

Rick and Daryl exchange a look. Rick nods once, stays silent, pushes his chair back and leaves, closing the door behind him. Then silence; utter silence. No air conditioning, no prison catcalls (Andrea's visited enough prisons to have heard them all), no footsteps on the hallways. Just silence, her and Daryl in uncomfortable chairs and expectation filling the room.

Andrea gives Daryl a surprised look. "Good cop, bad cop, Daryl?"

"Figured you'd be more likely to talk to me than Rick. Kinda obvious he ain't your favourite person right now."

"Can you blame me?"

"Ain't my problem who you blame or don't blame. Just want to know what you know."

"So you can run off and tell Rick?" Andrea snorts derision. "I don't think so, Daryl."

"Depends what it is you got to say."

For an awful second Andrea's gaze drifts to Daryl's scarred knuckles, her mind on Herschel's farm, the last time she saw him properly. She remembers the last time Rick let Daryl have his way questioning a suspect.

She dispels it as soon as she thinks it. Daryl isn't that man. Not with her. He might be many things, but he'd never hit her.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

Wordlessly, Daryl reaches to the waistband at the back of his pants, withdraws something shiny and metal and magpieish and sets it on Rick's desk, sliding it towards her with slow, practiced ease. His gaze holds hers and doesn't blink, and he's a different person. Gone is the angry man who threw crossbows and beat suspects to near-death. He leans forwards, his forearms resting on his knees, like they're two old friends which, she supposes, they are.

Andrea's hand reached for her beloved pistol but he holds it firm, not budging. When he speaks, his voice is soft, almost seductive, and Andrea can't tear her gaze away.

"Ya stayed there awhile, according to Michonne. Fresh water, even electricity, safety, medicine, walls to keep out walkers. Must have been something to fight for."

"If Michonne's told you everything then what do you need me for?"

Daryl's head dips towards the pistol but like her, he doesn't look away. "'Cos they didn't give you this." He said. "You trusted them, but they didn't trust you. Or at least, they didn't trust you to protect the group. But she knew you knew stuff. Michonne didn't tell us everything. Didn't tell us much of anything, because she couldn't. Said that you were the person to ask since you were in The Governor's … confidence."

Andrea's stomach turns as she thinks about those times amid grey sheets, thinks about the picture Daryl's just painted: desirable enough to be taken to bed, but not valued enough to protect the group. Is that what she wants to be, what she was to Woodbury, to The Governor?

"They'll fight for it." She says, mouth dry. She couldn't not answer Daryl, even if she wanted to. His eyes hold hers like a hypnotist's, his voice a cool drink of water on this hot, mucky day. "There's seventy, eighty of them. Families and couples from what I saw, so maybe half that able to fight, but they will fight for it, Daryl. Fight tooth and nail for it. You only saw one side of them. They're a community, a family. They took us in, saved my life, gave us medicine and food and hope. Your brother … he pulled us from death and gave us some place to stay. The Governor …." She exhales a long, ragged breath and forces herself to remember memories several weeks old. "They treat him like a Messiah. Even Merle."

"What about the Governor?" Daryl's face is an expressionless, if badly-beaten, mask.

Andrea swallows, her throat thick and heavy. "He … he's interested in power. He's interested in resources, and control. He doesn't like to not be in control. Anyone who poses even a whisper of a threat and he'll eliminate them"

"What about him … Philip?" The name slides of Daryl's tongue and Andrea feels vomit rise at the back of her throat.

"He was married." She swallows, looks Daryl in the eye. "A blonde woman. There was a daughter, Penny … Michonne killed her. She was a walker. He kept her in a box with a chain on her neck. There were experiments on walkers, trying to see if there was any humanity left in them. There were others … heads … so much water."

She finally tears her gaze away and sags. Their exchange has lasted minutes and she feels drained of every emotion.

Daryl nods, moves to rise and Andrea grabs his arm. "I won't be judged for staying with them, Daryl." She says. "Not by you or Rick or Glenn or Maggie or anyone else here. They saved my life and gave me a safe place to stay and I'd defy any one of you who doesn't want that for themselves."

"Ain't my place to judge you." He says. "Can't speak for the others, but from what you've told me, sounds like you're beginning to judge yourself."

"Aren't we all?"

"Guess so. Don't forget your pistol, on your way out."

He's gone then, leaving Andrea alone in the prison warden's office.

TBC.


End file.
